I Am "Bloody Rose McCoy" For A REASON
Jan. 24th, 2010 08:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bloodyrosemccoySo I kept trying to do some basic exercising—running through forms, jogging in place, whatever—the last few days, and have failed miserably on account of cramps, made worse by the fact that I’m trying out one o’ them menstrual cups I hear the kids going on about. And yet despite the fact that it’s far smaller than the bucket I could probably use,* it has thrown the entire lower end into massive WE GOT MOVIE SIGN pandemonium.
“Well,” thought I, “at least I can do some upper-body stuff, right?”
Basically, what I’m trying to say is, I need to diversify my upper-body repertoire, because after two days of chest fly reps, GODDAMN ARE MY ARMS TIRED. Perhaps I will take tomorrow off from Exercise Time. Pushing book trucks will count as my workout.
Meanwhile, in news from inside my head, I was smoothing out the bumps in a conversation in Doctors! and all of a sudden Ghil had whipped out the space! equivalent of wallet photos of his kids to show the others. What the hell, y’all, I didn’t even know he HAD kids. I mean, sure, they both are rather more of a background presence in his life, but … damn, the things your own characters will keep secret from you if you let ’em.
*And while I appreciate the concept, I’d like to point out that the marketing has the same sort of flaw other hygiene products do, and thus if Ursula Vernon’s concept ever takes off I am so buying Blackbeard the Pirate’s Bucket o’ Blood. ("Yarr, this here high-grade silicon bucket can be swabbed with a tissue an' stowed in a discreet cotton Jolly Roger pouch fer the wench what finds herself a-sailin' the crimson tides.")
“Well,” thought I, “at least I can do some upper-body stuff, right?”
Basically, what I’m trying to say is, I need to diversify my upper-body repertoire, because after two days of chest fly reps, GODDAMN ARE MY ARMS TIRED. Perhaps I will take tomorrow off from Exercise Time. Pushing book trucks will count as my workout.
Meanwhile, in news from inside my head, I was smoothing out the bumps in a conversation in Doctors! and all of a sudden Ghil had whipped out the space! equivalent of wallet photos of his kids to show the others. What the hell, y’all, I didn’t even know he HAD kids. I mean, sure, they both are rather more of a background presence in his life, but … damn, the things your own characters will keep secret from you if you let ’em.
*And while I appreciate the concept, I’d like to point out that the marketing has the same sort of flaw other hygiene products do, and thus if Ursula Vernon’s concept ever takes off I am so buying Blackbeard the Pirate’s Bucket o’ Blood. ("Yarr, this here high-grade silicon bucket can be swabbed with a tissue an' stowed in a discreet cotton Jolly Roger pouch fer the wench what finds herself a-sailin' the crimson tides.")
